Wanna Toke?

So I thought I'd share a story from the years I taught "in the 'hood". Partly because it's kind of funny, but mostly because I can't bring myself to write a whole post about how ALL 12 of Lovebug's trains disappeared yesterday (Hubby, Ironflower and I looked everywhere) and this morning he magically found them without his sister or I noticing. My almost two-year-old already has a secret hiding space - you have to admit it's weird. But I have to stop talking about it now, because I'm pretty sure I even bored my parents with it last night. We searched EVERYWHERE for those trains. . . . . . .

I was teaching second grade. My class that year was the toughest I'd ever had. I had many kids with "D'issues". I had many parents who were very challenging. T., however, always seemed friendly, if a little distracted. I didn't talk to her that often, as her little boy was above grade level and very well-behaved and his grandmother usually picked him from school. But after the first month of school, T. began dropping by the school a fair amount. Sometimes it was at lunch, when she brought her kids McDonald's or Sonic. Sometimes it was in the afternoon, when she'd bring cookies or cupcakes. For the whole class. For no reason.

In a school where parents didn't even usually pack lunches for the kids and only about a third of them had treats at school for their birthdays, it was weird. The whole random treats for the whole class thing was a little odd even by suburban standards, I thought. One day, after my students went to music class, I brought the extra cookies up to the front office to share with the principal and secretary. As we chatted and added to our waistlines, I casually said, "I wonder why T. does that so often."

My principal, a woman so conservative that we had to beg her to let us wear skirts without stockings, looked at me in shock. "Haven't you smelled her?" she asked. I shook my head mutely. "She gets the munchies and likes to share with her kids," my boss explained. I stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"She's HIGH!" exclaimed our young, hip secretary.

My principal nodded. "You mean you couldn't tell? I didn't think you were the innocent type, Jerseygirl."

My hipness had just been insulted by someone my mother's age, AND I had to accept that one of my sweetest, smartest, cleanest, best-dressed students was being raised by a mom who smoked pot ALL DAY. Talk about changing one's perceptions.

I had T.'s youngest child a few years later. Baby sister was a more talkative replica of her brother. But mom didn't bring any extra treats or lunches that year. She wasn't half as friendly.

And she didn't smell like pot any more, either.

Yep, I'm Going To Blog About This

Hot Guy: That girl was dumb. Don't ever be dumb, kids.

Ironflower: But Daddy, I'm not dumb!

Hot Guy: Of course not, I think you're very smart.

Ironflower: But you're dumb, aren't you, Daddy?

Hot Guy: Actually I think our whole family is very smart.
Ironflower: Even you?

Hot Guy (looking at me): You're going to blog about this, aren't you?

I swear I have no idea why Ironflower thinks her father is dumb. Really. I mean, I may have complained about him "not knowing how to put his clothes in the hamper" in front of her once or twice. And he may have mentioned how difficult it is for him to dress them according to Mommy standards. But I never thought that Ironflower would draw such conclusions from it. She's only two and a half - she's supposed to need a lot more repetition before she can draw conclusions.

I wonder when she'll figure out that I can't see through walls?